Villa Blue (14 page)

“Spoken like a spy.” She drank from the sweet coffee in her mug then moved on to the glass of water that had been set in front of her.

“Spies don’t usually work for their parents.” His tone and face were unreadable.

“So that was your father on the phone?”

“The one and only.”

Ivy watched him more closely than she had before and realized it was the first time she’d seen him look anything but casually confident. He looked like a man slowed down by whatever weight he carried on his shoulders. “Not a good call then?”

“He’s just a tough man to deal with at times.”

“How so?”

“He’s a man who knows how to get what he wants when he wants it.”

She refrained from telling him she’d say the same thing about him—but she would have meant it as a compliment.

“Is he hot or cold about it?”

“He operates at whatever temperature is necessary to get what he wants.”

“And if you happen to be in the way?”

The waitress delivered plates of hearty food, refills of hot coffee, a quick, bell-chiming pat on Ivy’s shoulder again, then was off to the next table.

“Wouldn’t think twice about bulldozing over me if it suited him.”

There, she thought, feeling the pulse of what beat beneath the surface.

Watching as he forked a heap of eggs into his mouth after smothering them with hot sauce, she wondered if he noticed what he ate, but decided he’d meant it when he said he didn’t care what she ordered for him.

“I want to ask why he called, but if you don’t want to share, that’s all right. I hope you like what I ordered you.”

“It’s perfect,” he said, looking down at his plate as if he’d just realized he was eating. “He called to get my report on this trip and to tell me he wants me in London tomorrow.”

She stopped chewing for a moment, then finished her bite, swallowed. “Tomorrow,” she repeated, feeling her stomach drop abruptly into disappointment.

“Yeah. A deal that’s heated up there, he wants me to fly in and negotiate it.”

She waited for more, trying to understand, watching as he devoured his plate of food.

“And that’s the sort of thing you do for his company, right? Travel places, check out opportunities, buy them, or invest in them or whatever?”

“It is.”

“Are you unhappy in your job? You don’t really have to work for him, right?”

He finished his omelet then nudged the emptied plate away and pulled his cup of coffee in. “I don’t really know what’s wrong. Something rubbed me the wrong way while I was talking to him, I guess.”

Aiden absently drank from the mug then looked down at the black brew. “My job’s great.” When he looked back up at Ivy, a frown was set on his face. “I don’t have to work for his company, I’ve gotten other offers, considered doing my own thing, but I actually have a lot of freedom working for him. My father, in all his faults, gives me my freedom and pays me for it. I’ve seen the world and have earned money at the same time. Pretty good gig.”

“So then why are you frowning?”

“Am I?”

She nodded. “You don’t like London, then?”

He thought of the reporter from the London Times that he knew—Millie. Brunette, leggy, smart. And Katie the pretty woman who worked at the boutique inside of the hotel his father owned in London. He thought of the fun, frivolous adventures he could have.

“I don’t know why I don’t want to go.” Aiden emptied his coffee, pulled cash from his wallet and laid it on the table. “Ready?”

Something about the nook of a restaurant had gotten cramped instead of cozy. He needed air, adventure, something to take his mind off the fact that he had to leave Parpadeo and didn’t seem to give a damn about taking steps to actually leave—booking a flight, packing, finishing his report. “Come with me to that waterfall in your painting.”

Puzzled, having left most of her breakfast on her plate, she followed him across the walkway of the promenade. The harbor town—still waking under the warming glow of late spring—was empty except for two women power walking toward the shore, a woman on a bicycle speeding by, and a shopkeeper hosing off the sidewalk in front of his store.

“I have work,” she told him. “And my mom is here. The former is the difference between living my dreams and not, and the latter is… Well, I’m not really sure what to do about the latter. Don’t you have to leave?”

His face hardened in response.

They retrieved the cart—the correct one this time—from its spot in front of the gallery, waved to Klem through the window.

Heading back up the hill to Villa Blue, neither said anything. The sun had brought out additional morning stragglers and a variety of carts putted by, including one filled with the girls that made up the bachelorette party. Screams and calls came from the collection of girls and they pointed excitedly at Ivy and Aiden as they passed.

“What was that all about?” Ivy asked.

He shrugged then glanced at her, realizing. “Maybe they saw us this morning.”

Her eyes widened before she clasped a hand over her mouth, muffling a chuckle.

“Gives them something to aspire to,” he decided, then pulled over into one of the lookouts along the way.

“Well we’re not giving them another show right here. What’re you doing?”

He glanced at her and the jolt she got was startling. Ivy decided the waitress had been spot on about the way he looked into her, but there was something else. He let her look into him as well.

“What if we borrow the Jeep from Donatella—she’s already offered to let me borrow it—load up your mother, sister, and your painting gear, take it to the west side of the island and you can show me that waterfall. Many birds, one stone.”

She squinted as she tried to understand. “You want to spend the day with my mom and sister while I work? Why? Don’t you have to go to London?”

“I will. But I want to spend the day with you first. If that means other people are there, if that means you’re working, it doesn’t matter. I just want to spend the day with you before I leave.”

She searched for words but came up short of any intelligent articulation. The request had been so simple, so sincere, there wasn’t any response left except yes. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, and if I can really work, then yes. Okay.”

His face lightened again, and his lips caught hers in a kiss.

“I like watching you work,” he told her as they started back to the villa.

“Why?”

He maneuvered the cart through the switchbacks that squiggled up the hill. “I’ve never met anyone who sees the world like you do. I like watching it in action.”

“I just stand there painting. I’d think that’d be boring to watch.”

“Then you underestimate the sex appeal of watching a woman lose herself in passion.”

She frowned. “I’m inclined to tell you you’re crazy, but I think I’ll just accept it.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she repeated. “I can’t believe those girls saw us—maybe—this morning. You really think the odds are that good they were up early, watching us?”

“We could try it again, increase the odds of that happening.”

She knew he was kidding but it was more fun for her mind to imagine being with him again. She did have the gift of imagination, after all. “When will you leave for London?”

He pulled the cart under the shade of a cypress near the entrance of Villa Blue. “I don’t know. For now, I like where I’m at.”

“Me too,” she said, meaning it from the core of her being, knowing they meant it in different ways. “And doesn’t that feel good?” she decided as they made their way toward the front door of the villa.

“You feel good.” He picked her up and in one sweeping movement, her legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth covered hers. And instead of carting her into the villa, he took the side path to her studio.

“I thought we were getting ready to go to the waterfall?”

“We will.”

“This must be what it’s like to be tall,” she teased, glancing around at the pockets of thick woods, curving streets, and kaleidoscope of colorful homes tucked into the next hill over, taking advantage of seeing things from his perspective. “You know, the view really is beautiful here.”

“I prefer the view right in front of me,” he gripped her with one hand as he pushed open her door with the other.

“Too bad we couldn’t wait and do this at the waterfall.” Her body had come alive, ignited by his easy hold of her while he walked.

“You don’t want me looking like this in front of your mom and sister.” Aiden laid her on the bed, glanced down at himself pushing hard against his jeans.

“I see,” she said, pulling him toward her. “I think I can help with that.”

“And we’ll just have to play again at the waterfall.”

“Play,” she said, considering as his lips found her neck. “Too bad my mom and sister will be there,” she said, amending her statement.

Aiden slid her pants down her hips as she wiggled out of them. “We’ll find a way.”

“We’ll find a way,” she offered on a shuddered breath as he slid into her.

Chapter Ten

Donatella’s rusty red Jeep climbed over rocks that poked out of the dirt road on the wilder, preserved west side of the island, crept over wavy hills, putted beside meandering streams.

Helen and Iris chatted in the backseat, discussing matters Ivy preferred to ignore.

“Did you hear that Erika Rosenthall broke it off with the Heinz boy? Big mistake if you ask me. He’s going places.” Helen’s raspy, matronly voice reached up to Ivy. “Did you hear that, Ivy? Erika Rosenthall made a big mistake by—”

“I heard you, Mom, but I didn’t hear about Erika. I don’t have much interest in the Carmel gossip scene and I’d rather stay out of it.”

“You mean
get
out of it?” Iris corrected, holding onto the roll bar as they rambled over a rise of rocks.

“What do you mean?”

“You leaving Carmel, leaving Greg without, you know, fighting for him. People are saying you snuck out of town in the middle of the night to save face, others say you’ve cracked and have become some kind of nut in hiding. And some say you went off to have plastic surgery so no one will recognize you. That’s my personal fave.”

Ivy ordered herself not to turn around in her seat to glare at her sister. “People will get bored eventually and move on to something more interesting.” She leaned an elbow out of the open window and, realizing which camp her mother was in, mumbled, “I’m not in hiding.”

“No, it’s pretty interesting stuff. With Greg and that girl getting married,
and
her being pregnant. Ah! I almost forgot. Their wedding is today! Did you know, Ivy?”

Aiden looked over to Ivy who was staring off in the distance and he wondered how knotted up in her ex she was. Her emotionless face hidden behind sunglasses wasn’t giving away any hints.

“If Ivy had stayed and fought for him, Greg would’ve done the right thing in the end,” Helen told Iris, again just loud enough for Ivy to hear. “I didn’t raise quitters.”

Finally Ivy turned around. “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Mom. Really I am. And I’m sorry you don’t understand, but that’s just the way it is. Now both of you are being rude to Aiden who is being perfectly kind and taking us to see a waterfall. Let’s just enjoy this the best we can. It’s a beautiful place. I’d rather not spoil it by trying to wish any of us were other than who we are.”

“I’m your mother.” Helen’s voice slammed down like a wall of iron bars. “And you will not speak to me that way.”

“Then we agree this conversation can be over,” Ivy said, reining in the snarling spark, then turned back to watching the dirt road.

Surprising himself, Aiden reached over, placed a hand on Ivy’s leg in assurance, in understanding. He wasn’t one for displays of affection in front of parents—too many expectations tended to spring up—but in that moment, he didn’t care. Ivy simply mattered more.

The rest of the ride was quiet except for Ivy guiding them toward the waterfall Donatella had shown her when she’d first arrived on Parpadeo. It had, once again, been hidden by the growth of spring—framed by bursting green ferns, twisting ties of thick brown vines, white, gold, and purple wildflowers that climbed from the base of either side of the steady spray of water. Nature shielded the grotto from the whipping winds of the western coastal edge, making it feel like a secret, soothing pocket of life.

It looked the same as when she’d first been there, except the green had grown livelier, fuller, and the flowers had grown in numbers, as if building their own chipper families in the secret spot. Boulders circled the base of the waterfall, cupping the pool of water, creating a swimming hole and providing a neat row of seats to take in the view.

Helen and Iris were steps ahead, and Iris was already screeching over the chill of the water.

“Magical.” Aiden stopped beside Ivy.

She’d paused to take in the wonder—and a breath—from afar before she got any closer. She preferred that view, the broader view, before dialing into one scene, one emotion, one speck of time that she’d feel her way through then paint on paper.

Catching the scent of man by her side, it factored into the scene that came into focus in her mind.

In clear contrast to how she felt with her own family—rigidly prepared to shield herself at any time—she was comfortable standing next to Aiden. He was a man she barely knew, and yet, somehow she was more content with him than with her flesh and blood. For one, he understood her better than her mother and sister ever would. And he’d somehow been beside her when she needed him. Or, more accurately, when she didn’t know she needed him. “Magical,” she agreed, her thoughts crossing with the conversation. “I didn’t think I believed in magic. I might be changing my mind on that.”

“You create worlds out of nothing. That’s magical.”

She tilted her head to meet his gaze, feeling herself in that quiet place in the center of a storm. “You always say something at just the right time that makes me smile. You’re really good at that.”

“Good.” He laid a kiss on her mouth, then another because he could.

“Good,” she repeated.

“You kept a cool head on the ride over. You all right?”

Looking out toward where her mother was fussing over where the towels should be placed, she watched a woman she felt no connection with take control of the environment around her, even in the smallest of ways.

“Yeah. My mom’s pretty incredible actually, judgment of me aside. She creates her world how she wants it. My wants and my desires just don’t fit into that picture so she doesn’t know what to do with me. It’s not her fault, we’re just different. After all, she did name me after a toxic plant, and she named my sister after her favorite flower. We clearly see the world in different ways.”

“Most people would argue until the other person saw things their way.”

“I’m used to seeing and understanding things differently than others. I’m just not ‘most people.’”

“No,” he said, intertwining their fingers together. “You’re definitely not.”

His eyes, the same green as the lush fern gulley that grew around them, scanned her face.

She waited a moment, let her mind wander into lust.

When his phone rang, she took a deep breath of transition and slid her supply bag from her shoulder. It was time to get to work.

Aiden answered the call and wandered off while she spread the blanket she’d brought. She pulled out her bound book of watercolor paper and collection of Tombow pens. Her plan—well, her change of plan given that she wasn’t by herself in her own cocoon of solitude—was to sketch, using the paint of the watercolor markers, then create paintings from the sketches upon return. If she could get a couple of decent outlines going, she’d consider the afternoon a productive one.

Plus she’d brought one stretched piece of cold press paper that she’d taped to a board—just in case she wanted to attempt a full painting.

Ivy gave herself a few pages for fast pencil sketches—finding a perspective, letting the images unfold. Her mom and sister sat on the tops of boulders and, because they were busy moving only their mouths, she drew the outline of them, then the detail, and felt the image flow.

Pulling out her smaller sketchbook she used to wet the Tombow pens, she scribbled colors of yellow and brown on the top page, then recapped the pens and set them aside. Then she poured water from her bottle into a square plastic container and pulled out one of her brushes. Dipping the brush into the water then swiping it over the marks from the Tombow pens to create paint, she began with the shadowed side of her mother’s face.

Helen Van Noten was beautiful—the strong cheekbones, sharp jaw. She was staunch in her beauty and relentless in her composure.

Ivy, on the other hand, figured she had inherited a watered down version of that. She was staunch—on the inside. She was relentless—on the inside. But those colors hadn’t seeped through to the outside, she thought. For better or worse.

As she painted, she heard only the rush of the roaring waterfall and forgot the stark sounds of disagreement. She found understanding through viewing the differences. It was the gift of being an artist—seeing the flawless center behind what would otherwise be viewed as a flaw.

Not to imply that she wasn’t still frustrated by her family’s lack of regard for who she was. The frustration was simply one part of the whole.

Her favorite art teacher had taught her that in order to paint wholly, one needed to embrace imperfections, to find them and use them, as they are what makes a thing beautiful. If an apple is painted as a perfect, unblemished apple that we see in our mind, that is a creation from our expectation of perfection. If an apple is painted with its spots and scars and dented, crooked bits, then we are painting life in its purest form of beauty. And when it’s painted with a feeling
about
the subject, a clear flow of emotion and sense of the world, sense of the subject, that’s when a painting becomes art.

And that lesson had struck a tender nerve in Ivy. It was how she’d gotten through the years of living with a family that had many imperfections—especially with regards to their view of her. She understood what it meant to embrace flaws and to feel them, but not to take them personally and instead see them as if they were just part of the picture.

But what was her perspective about those flaws? How did she feel about them?

She slid the brush over more paint, saturating it, then went to work with expressive lines, slim shadows, and swift, encompassing colors, expressing how she felt.

“Ivy Van Noten, you’re being unsociable. We came all the way here to visit you and you’re over there doing God knows what.” Her mother’s voice carried over the constant rush of water.

And just like that, her peace was pulled underwater and what bubbled up was less than pleasant. Ivy took a settling breath as she continued painting, not looking up. “I told you that I would need to work, Mom. I’m glad you two are able to relax though. It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she asked, attempting deflection.

Ivy lifted her eyes from behind her sunglasses to see her mother flick a dismissive hand through the air then return to talking to Iris.

Good. Helen was once again occupied with something other than Ivy. At least, occupied by something other than talking
to
Ivy.

She dove back in, her movements fast and full of feeling and flow. There was too much to think about—her mother and the myriad of emotions entwined with their relationship, her ex-husband and the idea that he was getting married, maybe right at that moment, and Aiden. Aiden who was strong and handsome and had a knack for being there for her, with her, when she needed him most.

There, she decided, back on track. She wouldn’t think about any of the other thoughts that collected in her mind like a collage. She’d let the thoughts continue on like a swift stream while she kept ahold of that feeling Aiden gave her, that feeling of being desired, as her lens through which she’d paint her perspective. That lens had a brightness to it—not a rosiness, nothing so cliché, she clarified to herself as she painted—but it was as if every color had a dash more pigment to it.

She sketched the picture her mother and sister made, then sketched another from a different angle. Two women seated at the edge of a pool of water, discussing whatever stories of life popped into their heads, sun streaming through a canopy of green, casting shadows of dark leaves around them.

And just as they dipped their toes into the water, Ivy dipped into her imagination, staying seeped in the swirling colors, rich sounds, and vibrant visual images, forgetting all else.

Time simply stilled as she soared…

A scattering of finches fluttered by and woke Ivy from the zone she’d been in. Minutes, thankfully, hadn’t tracked every moment in her mind, but she briefly wondered how long they’d been at the waterfall.

Studying the scenes she’d painted, the placement of light and shadow, she noted that the sun had moved since she began. And now that she was looking at the motion of colors and shades, the setting had a movement to it that she liked. She sat back, refocused her eyes to take in the whole of it rather than the detail she’d been dialed into. The falling water poured life into the scene and everything around it reacted to that.

Except, she noted, her mother. Her mother was too much of a force of life on her own to react to a waterfall.

Funny how things became clearer when they were painted as an impression, Ivy thought with a thrill. She understood the world when she painted it on paper, so much more than she did in the everyday manifestation of things.

“Will you kill me if I say that’s astoundingly awesome?”

Ivy angled her head toward Aiden who’d walked up behind her. “Why would I kill you for saying something so kind?”

“Because I’m looking at it. I know you don’t like that.”

“Lucky for you, this one’s done,” she said, feeling its completeness. “Plus, dragging your body out to sea after I killed you would be too much effort on a day like today.”

“Thank God for that.”

“How was your call?” She rose, standing beside him, stretching the muscles of her arms, rolling her neck and hearing cracks as she did.

When he didn’t respond, she looked up to him.